


Knight Time

by MeiHwa



Category: Original Work, TFTDC
Genre: Compulsion, F/M, Sirens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:34:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29920401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeiHwa/pseuds/MeiHwa
Summary: Try to resist the urge to be pulled in by the Lullaby Lady, Carmen Knight of the broadcast station WDCR.
Collections: Tales from the Dark City





	1. Good Morning!

beepbeepbeepbeepbeep

The covers shifted on the bed and a tiny noise between a groan and a whine came from somewhere under the pillow. A perfectly manicured hand emerged from the sheets to blindly seek out the clock. In a few halfhearted attempts, the hand became firm and slapped the button to shut off the alarm.

The sheets were thrown back and a woman with medium length, pale, blond hair, sticking in all directions, sat up with her eyes still closed. Legs slid to the side of the bed and feet, manicured as perfectly as her hands, slid into the gaping mouths of slippers shaped like bears. Her eyes flickered open momentarily here and there as she walked across her loft apartment to reach her kitchen without incident. A single mug sat on the clean counter next to keys. Both items were grabbed as the woman walked straight out her front door without comb, toothbrush or make-up applied.

"Morning, Ms. Knight! called a cheerfully mailman delivering his afternoon rounds. Eyes still mostly closed, she nodded and lifted a hand. She left her door open by accident and the mailman called out to her a second time as she walked down the stairs. He moved to her door delivering her mail by putting it inside before turning to call out, "Your door, Ms. Knight!" Her hand lifted again in a wave and another nod was given causing the mailman to shake his head as he closed the door for her.

Ms. Knight came out her apartment building door with a hand up to block the low winter sun. She rarely got cold, even in the winter, so her flannel pajamas with their little bears all over them were just fine even though it was 30 degrees. There, just a few shuffling feet away, was her goal: the coffee shop. 

The door gave a sweet ring of chimes that was far nicer than the incessant beeping of her alarm. One eye peeled open to gauge who might be in front of her and how long the wait would be. Even as sleep mussed as she was, she was lovely. She approached the counter and flopped her head and arms down on it, coffee mug extended.

"Afternoon, miss Carmen," the bistro boy said in a soft voice to be gentle to his best customer's ears. The coffee cup lifted a fraction in response. Not a word did she utter. He took her cup and went about making Carmen Knight's usual.

Whispering started up at a table in the corner where a group of college age students argued back and forth. Their argument was focused on the sleepy woman. 

"I'm telling you! That's the Lullaby Lady."

"Oh come on! Look at her. That can't be the Siren."

"Well WDCR is right across the street. The Nightingale does work for the station."

"She hasn't said anything. How can we tell if she's the Siren?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at Carmen. "That guy that works here called her Carmen."

"He's got you there! Carmen Knight is the Nightingale's real name."

"Knight has to be an alias. And I'm sure there is more than one Carmen in the city."

As they contemplated the tussled woman, the coffee mug was returned to her hand, full of a steaming brew mixed to her expectations. Her head came up and the students hushed up. Coffee lifted to her nose opened her bright teal colored eyes. She took a sip and gave and appreciative 'mmm'. The hair on her head didn't look quite as out of place after she made the noise. It wasn't that she tried to fix it or that it fixed itself more than gravity and humidity did. No, it was more that even the slightest of songs from her throat made anyone hearing it not care. "It's good, Bradley."

"It's her! I told you it's her!"

The excited voice made her smile. A slip of paper was slid across the counter with a pen even though she didn't offer currency then. Brad, the bistro boy smiled and gave a laugh. "I'd hope to have it right by now. Your autograph, miss Carmen?" 

The siren took up the pen to sign the receipt without question. Her ongoing tab was always paid in advance and they were all tipped well. She turned, now wide-eyed and all smiles, to the college kids. Her accent was heavy, Russian or some other Slavic country influencing her even though her pale hair was natural and unlike most of the dark haired residents. her skin tone was lightly tanned to match the Romani, though not necessarily from sun exposure.

"You like my show, yes?"

"Oh yeah!" said the one that was sure it was her from the beginning. The other two nodded as well. "I love your voice! Lots of stations use guys with English accents or Austrian but they all seem far or overuse. Yours is awesome."

"Thank, you." A nod and a tilt of her head, and she drew closer. "I appreciate your patronage. Please," she leaned closer and told them with her deep voice flowing through her throat. "... continue to listen."

She turned her head to the one who doubted his friend. "You... You should know a penny is still shiny with or without its polish. The very air you exhale can dull a penny." The full force of her sea green gaze stared deeply into his eyes. "If you see a penny you should pick it up, not cast it down."

A hypnotized nod came from him and he mumbled, "yes ma'am."

"Good," she said and patted his cheek. When Carmen stood up again to sip her coffee. The mug lifted on a toast as she said, "Have a good day, gentlemen. Enjoy your coffee." 

Happily, the confident student gushed over their meeting. "It was awesome meeting you, Ms. Knight. Would you like to stay and have breakfast? A muffin or bagels or cinnamon roll?"

"I don't eat breakfast here. Just coffee. Thank you for the offer. Bring me coffee sometime," She said with the compulsion in her voice again and saluted one last time before exiting to the street. 

The sign for WDCR was directly in her sight when she exited the bistro. This was her little world. From her little world, she reached out to everyone without having to go more than a block from her home. Since arriving in the city, Carmen hadn't gone more than that one block from home. Her daily path was simple: home to bistro to home to work to bar to home; repeat. Habitual? Secluded? Yes, but her voice reached beyond the barriers and touched more than she ever thought possible. It helped. 

As she walked back up the stairs, past the kind mailman, she smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "A very good morning to you, Chuck." 

"Ah the nightingale speaks!" He placed a hand to his chest half teasingly to still the beating of his heart. Chuck was old, but he wasn't dead and the sight of a beautiful woman smiling at him did raise his blood pressure. "I put your mail right inside like you like."

"Thank you, Chuck." Carmen knew that he, like others that lived in the area, were ensnared. When one broke away from her voice another soon came into the neighborhood to replace them. Deep down, she knew when someone struggled to be free of her voice. Chuck wasn't one... yet. When he did, she would urge him to retire... elsewhere, and he would. Her voice would slowly become distant. The radio show would lose its draw and he would find peace, most likely in death. Until then, he was her cheerful greeting each morning.


	2. Food for Thought

Her keys were lifted to the lock and she moved into her familiar nest. The door was locked behind her and she reached down to pick up the bundle of letters tied up with a string. "Heavy today..." she said to herself as the string bit into her hand. Hauling it to the large dining table of her loft apartment, Carmen set the bundle down along with her coffee and went past it towards the full wall window. A glance outside confirmed that, yes, she lived in the city and, yes, she still lived across the street from work. The big neon sign, off during the day, was level with her window. She picked the apartment, one, because of the view and, two, because her landlord couldn't rent out the overly lit room. But Carmen lived and breathed WDCR so having its sign's light her place lulled her to sleep at night. Of course now her landlord had problems renting out other apartments because musicians are always loud. 

Carmen went to her work station. It was basically a wall of stereo equipment and a computer with all the bells and whistles. Opposite the technology was more fundamental music making gear. A baby grand piano, a harp, bass, guitar, and violin were all out and on display while others were stored in cases on shelves. Her bed sat between high tech and low tech. It had been said that she lived, ate and slept music. Seeing her apartment, it was believable. 

Somewhere on her computer desk she'd left her knife. Opening as many letters as she got, paper cuts were inevitable but avoidable with a good letter opener. As she looked, she turned on the stereo to the new release station online that kept her up to date for music news. There was no need to listen to herself unless she was practicing. "Ah there you are," she softly said as she picked up the blade as old as she was. Moving back to the table, she sat with her coffee set at just the right angle and the letters in a stack she could file through.

Carmen skimmed the letters for content: requests, short praise,  love and the rare threat. Some were very familiar handwriting from steady fans that send her multiple letters a week. Those would be scanned and filed with the matching letters. Names and addresses were kept in a database. The rarer single love letters were treated with similar technique, but she always reread them during the day. She considered them her lunch. Heartfelt emotion put to words that were palatable. All of the lengthy letters she received would go with her to work. The requests were jotted down to work into the next day's programming. Carmen always kept a day or two ahead, depending on the number of requests. Once sorted, every letter was read thoroughly. Ah, breakfast was always fresh and new even with repeated writers.

There was always the need to feed her flesh as well as her soul. She wasn't like the undead. Sustenance came in many forms. A nice bagel with locks would be in her future. The drive in her soul needed filling in the morning or even the short trip to the station could prove dangerous to others. Her race was not known for their good intentions. If in a foul mood, Carmen could easily tell some to go take a hike, and they would do it until they dropped. Every word from her lips was carefully said. Every phrase was practiced. When she told someone, good morning, it wasn't a question, it was a believed fact no matter how bad it was. At least such a phrase would wear off after the morning. 

Her thoughts drifted to the young men in the coffee shop. She expected to see them again in the future. Depending on how many 'pennies' the rude one found, it might be sooner than later. The coffee she asked for would be a welcome addition whenever it came. 

Carmen's hand lifted to rub at her temple as guilt seeped in. Addiction was nothing to laugh at nor was compulsion. Both were part of her life; her burden to bear. Even as she compelled others to do her bidding, she was compelled to make them. The young man wasn't really that rude. He had only stated his disbelief, she tried to tell herself. But then his words were clearly repeating in her mind. 'Look at her... look at her... look at her... Oh come on! Look at her.'

The knife in her hand stabbed into the top of the table with a hard jab and Carmen pushed away from the table. Steps quick and angry, she flew to her bathroom. The mirror there reflected back her face, unlined by time. Her hair was out of place, but more of a soft halo of gold. No knots were present. Her fingers ran through the short golden lengths. The locks tumbled through her fingertips like silk. Her lips pursed in a kiss that she aimed at herself. "The boy obviously could not fathom such a sexy, sleep tousled woman could be the same polished model of beauty from the advertisements. Simple mistake." Leaning closer to the mirror she commented to herself, "One mistake is enough for the day, no?" She pulled away from the mirror and turned on the shower. "Time to polish the penny."


End file.
